Cover Me: A Rock Star Romance (11 page)

“The things you say.” He took my bottom lip between his finger and thumb and led me to his mouth for another kiss. His tongue swept across mine and retreated, leaving his lips to knead mine. “Honestly,” he said, trailing kisses across my cheek. “I can’t fucking believe how lucky I am that you’re here.”

“Somebody had to save you from your parents.”

“True. I owe you big.”

“Yes,” I said, standing and tugging him to his feet, “you do. A big Bloody Mary and an omelet. So, get that sweet ass into the shower and meet me in an hour.”

“Sweet ass, huh?” He followed me to the bedroom door. “Are you going to risk running into Bob and Kate? Dad wears his boxers to the breakfast table and they normally gap open in front. Take this as a warning.”

“It’s that or sneak back out the window like a groupie doing the walk of shame. Which would you rather have me do?” I raised my eyebrows. “Girlfriend or groupie?”

He cocked his eyebrows right back at me and swung the door open. “Mom! Bess is leaving!”

“So what?” My dad yelled. “Do you know what time it is?”

“You’re always welcome, Dear!” Mom called. “I’ll tell your mother you said, hello!”

“I’m sure she will,” I whispered, rolling my eyes at Derek.

“You should probably let all your calls go to voicemail today.” He held my hand and walked me through the house to the front door. “See you in an hour.”

After two quick kisses and being pulled back for a third and fourth, I trotted out into the bright Santa Cruz sun and for the first time ever, ran across our yards as Derek’s girlfriend.

Derek

W
e sat on
the deck at the Blue Oyster, a bar on the beach that only closed for four hours between two-thirty A.M. and six-thirty A.M. Most of the weekend partiers hung out on the beach during the closed hours and came back in—still drunk—for breakfast.

I wore a fisherman style hat I found in our front closet with the front brim turned up and sunglasses, left the stubble on my face and threw on a white t-shirt, a pair of my dad’s plaid Bermuda shorts and flip flops. If anyone could guess it was me, they deserved to find me.

“I don’t know,” Bess said, crunching on a piece of celery from her Bloody Mary, “I kind of like the new look.”

I glanced down at my loud shorts and back up at her. “You might need a new prescription in those glasses.”

She licked the side of the celery stalk, catching a drip of her drink on her tongue. My dick twitched. “I think it’s sexy,” she said.

“You have an old man fetish, don’t you?”

She licked her celery again, then bit the tip off. “I need to do some work today. Anything you want me to report about your career trajectory?”

I sat up a little straighter. She wouldn’t spill any info about me that I didn’t want out. I shouldn’t have the pang of anxiety sitting like an eight ball in my chest. “No.”

She nodded, turning her eyes out to the beach, and sipped her drink. Was that disappointment I detected?

Our server came with our omelets, bacon and hash browns. I took a couple big gulps of my own Bloody Mary and told myself to stop trying to sabotage the best thing that’s happened to me maybe ever. “I should get some writing done today, too.”

“We can work together,” she said. Her eyes shined bright. “Unless you’d rather not.”

I rubbed my knee against hers under the table. “You are the inspiration for the song I’m writing. Makes sense for you to be with me when I write it.”

Her phone rang and she dug it out of her bag. “It’s Karen.” She looked from her phone to me. “My assistant. I should take this.”

“Of course.”

I watched her hustle across the deck to the far side where all the tables were empty. She leaned against the railing with her back to me. The eight ball in my gut rolled around making me nauseous. Where did Karen think Bess was and did she know she was with me? The last thing I needed was for our relationship to go public before it even got fully off the ground. We hadn’t even had sex yet. She was still too skittish about us no matter what she claimed. My plan to go slow would be blown right out of the water if her face was plastered all over the tabloids with shock and awe headlines.

“Everything okay?” the server asked, jolting me out of my head.

“Yeah. Fine. Thanks.”

Bess looked over her shoulder at me, made eye contact and turned back around. Jesus, was she talking about me right then?

I stood and strode over to her, quietly, and stood behind her, listening with my arms folded.

“No, I haven’t asked him yet. Karen you have understand. I can’t just—no—listen I need some time. He won’t.”

“He won’t what?” I asked.

She spun around. Her mouth hung open, her eyes huge behind her glasses. “Karen, I’ll call you back.” She hung up and cradled her phone between both hands.

“He won’t what?” I repeated.

“How is my personal call any of your business?”

“When you’re talking about me.” I took a step forward. “Do you think I’m a fucking idiot, Bess?”

She tried to back up, but was already against the railing. “She knew I was coming here to find you.”

“You didn’t have to tell her I was here.” I was so pissed, my fucking head was going to explode.

“She knew! Some guy spotted you getting off the exit. She knew you had to be here!” She pushed her bangs up and rested her palm on her forehead.

I fisted my hands at my sides. The eight ball was fucking dust from my stomach clenching. “What won’t you ask me? What won’t I do?”

She took a deep breath and grimaced, rubbing her forehead. “Give us an exclusive. I was going to ask. Before. Not now. I wouldn’t anymore.”

I leaned forward, put my hands on top of the wooden railing on either side of her and stared her in the eyes. I wanted the truth and I wanted to see it in her eyes when she answered me. “Were you going to fuck me for an exclusive, Bess?”

Her hand wound back and flew forward, slapping me across the face. It stung like fucking lightning. She shoved my shoulders. I stepped back, touching my fingertips to my cheek.

“Fuck you, Derek Bast! Fuck you!” She shoved me again and took off, grabbing her bag and striding through the bar, leaving me standing there with all the drunks staring at me.

“Derek Bast?” A woman at the bar said, standing to get a better look at me.

Fuck. “No,” I said. “We were arguing about a song—if he wrote it. That’s why she said, ‘Fuck you, it’s Derek Bast!’ she always has to be right, so…” I shrugged. “She gets a little worked up sometimes.”

“You need a shot,” the guy beside her said. “She whacked you hard. Come on over. I’ll buy you one.”

“Thanks.” I ambled over, rubbing the side of my face. That would leave a mark.

*

Four hours and
countless shots later, Bess’s brother-in-law, John, strolled in and sat beside me. “Heard you were in town.”

“Heard right. What a drink?” I gestured to my new friends. “This is Roy and Sonya.” I leaned in and whispered, “and I’m Paul.”

“Like my father-in-law?”

I nodded, the room moved a little too fast when I did and my barstool pitched under me. John grabbed my shoulders. “Let’s get you home, Paul.”

“I don’t have a home, John. I’ll just stay here and drink beer and do shots with my friends, Roy and Sonya.”

“That a boy,” Roy said, with a sloppy drunk grin. “Got his face smacked good this morning by a feisty bitch.”

I held up a finger to Roy in warning. “Don’t.”

“Right. She’s not a bitch.”

John grabbed my arm, luring my attention back to him. “Let’s get lunch then. I think you could use some food to soak up some of that booze.”

Before I could argue, he was dragging me off my stool. I was too drunk to fight or even care. “Later,” I called to Roy and Sonya.

“See you later, Paul,” Sonya said. Roy gave me a salute.

John pushed the door open and the sun was like a million watt flashlight aimed at my eyes. The sunglasses were long gone, lost sometime around my eighth or ninth shot. “Get in.” John opened his passenger side car door and shoved me in.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked when he backed out of the bar lot. “To get you food and coffee. Lots of coffee.”

Unease crept into my consciousness. “Where would that be?”

He looked over at me. “My house. Emmy wants to talk to you.”

I banged my head off the headrest a few times. “I knew I was fucked as soon as you sat down at the bar.”

He chuckled. “You were fucked long before that, my friend.”

I started laughing with him. “Those Halprin women are crazy. My dad’s right.”

“Crazy isn’t even the word for it and I brought three more of them into existence.”

We laughed even harder.

I was halfway
back to L.A. when Emmy called me. “He was still at the bar. John found him. He’s drunk off his ass and you need to talk to him, Bess.”

“There’s nothing to talk to him about. I’m two hours from Santa Cruz and when I get back to my apartment, I’m going to get drunk myself and forget any of this ever happened.”

What a lie that was. I’d never forget the time I spent with Derek. It crashed and burned faster than even I would’ve guessed, but at least my imagination got to live some of its finer creations in real life.

“Bess, I’m your sister. I know you. This isn’t just some guy. This is Derek. You can say you don’t care, but I know you do. You more than care. Drop the pride and the angry girl routine, turn your car around and get over here.” She hung up, leaving no room for debate.

Why did I have to call her to tell her I left town? Why did I vent and tell her every detail? Next, she’d have my mom calling. That would be torture I didn’t need to experience.

I groaned and banged my hand on the steering wheel before pulling into the right lane and getting off at the next exit to turn around.

Was I going to fuck him for an exclusive.

I’d never been so insulted in my life. Who did he think he was to talk to me like that?

Maybe I’d thought about using my feminine wiles to get him to talk on the record, but all of that changed. I told him I wanted to be with him, to give us a shot. What did he think I was trying to explain to Karen when he so rudely eavesdropped on my conversation?

Why did we always end up like this?

My phone rang again. Emmy. “I turned around,” I said. “You don’t have to threaten to call Mom.”

“Aunt Bess, why is your boyfriend throwing up in our bushes?” I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. At ten, my oldest niece, Pricilla, had a voice like a Disney princess and the personality of a pit bull. “I have a friend coming over and this is embarrassing!”

“I’m sorry, Cilla. I’m on my way to help. See if your dad—”

“Who are you talking to?” Emmy’s voice was muffled and the phone banged around. “Bess?” my sister said. “Sorry. I didn’t know she had my phone.”

“It’s okay. She said Derek’s puking in the bushes. Is he okay?”

Despite the guilt constricting my chest, I was still almost too pissed to care if he was puking his brains out.

“He’s drunk, not dying and Cilla’s friend’s coming over and I have to take Lindsey to soccer, which means Johns stuck with your boy toy and the baby.”

“Why are you mad at me about this? I didn’t ask you to send John after him! I was half way back home to L.A.!”

“I’m mad because I did this for you!”

“That makes no sense! I didn’t ask you to.” My sister was infuriating to argue with. She never made valid points and was an emotional crazy person.

“
You
don’t make sense!” she yelled, and hung up.

Why did I always think of home and Santa Cruz with such fondness? It was a shit storm of catering to my sister’s whims and my mom’s guilt trips and throw in Derek on top of that and being five hours south was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I pulled into my sister’s driveway at ten till two in the afternoon. Cilla answered the door with a petulant expression on her face. “’Bout time,” she said, and walked away, taking the stairs two at a time up to her room.

I stepped into the foyer and heard the baby crying through a monitor perched on the kitchen counter, then John’s voice singing softy to her. I figured Emmy was at soccer with Lindsey, so that left Derek here somewhere.

The kitchen was cluttered with dishes in the sink and newspaper strewn on the table. Roller blades sat beside the back door and a fish swam in circles in a bowl on the counter. My sister’s life was foreign and chaotic to me.

I poured a cup of coffee and took it in to the family room. Derek looked up from the couch. Neither of us said a word. I sat in the chair beside the couch and started watching the program that was on T.V.
Buffy The Vampire Slayer.

“This is a good episode,” I said. “Have you seen it?”

“No.” His voice was quiet and gravelly.

“I didn’t send John to find you.”

He didn’t say anything and I was afraid to look at him. “I was half way back to L.A. and Emmy called—”

“You never answered my question.”

I made myself turn my head and look at him. His eyes were half-mast and his hair stuck up on end. He scowled, but the anger didn’t come off as harshly as it would’ve if it wasn’t dimmed by his effort to not pass out and the cat he mindlessly stroked on the couch beside him.

“Originally, I came to get an exclusive. But the answer is no. It wouldn’t be fair to use any advantage I have to get an exclusive with you. Not that I have an advantage any longer.”

“Why do you assume that?” He threw one hand in the air and it fell back down on the couch. “And why did you run away? You said you wouldn’t run anymore.”

“I left because I was pissed! You say things to me that are so blunt and insensitive that if I don’t leave, I might kill you. Or say something I might live to regret. If I don’t get away, everything will end up worse.”

“I say what’s on my mind. I don’t lie.” He looked down at the cat, like he’d just realized it was sitting there.